When The Time Comes
by 6Dylan9
Summary: When the time comes I'll make her an offer she can't refuse. Written for Femslash Minis. Set around season 4. Darla/Buffy.


When The Time Comes

I've been here for months now, stuck dancing between good and evil in a way that's making me sick. I thought coming back to Sunnydale would be fun, or maybe cathartic; look up some old friends, throw a little re-birth party. Me, Dru, and Spike, feeding over the Hellmouth until we grew bored and moved on – a happy family again. A family minus Angelus anyway.

But I didn't count on Drusilla getting so angry about Spike. I wasn't to know they'd finally driven each other crazy – or crazier in Dru's case. She left when I found him and brought him to our new home, ranting about not wanting to know him again and telling me to look her up once I left Sunnydale.

Figured I'd stick around a while and catch up with her later; eager to feel the energy that hunting on a Hellmouth pushes through your veins with the blood still warm from a fresh kill.

It was fun at first. Spike got annoying quickly but it's bearable. He knows the area better than I now, and I hate to dine alone.

Neither of us saw the boys dressed in green, carrying weapons that stung like lightning, until it was too late. Drowsy on too much blood and the freedom that had us frolicking like lambs, we let them sneak up on us and drag us away. Away to a place underground with too much light, and people poking at us.

They did something to us. They cut our brains open and tethered our ability to kill, to hurt. Impotent but angry, it wasn't long until those boys messed up and we found a way out. Into the night and the terrifying realisation that we would never be the same again with these things in our head.

With nowhere to go we hid. There was no contacting Drusilla, and I didn't want Wolfram and Hart knowing. They'd done enough already by resurrecting me and being stupid enough to let Drusilla take me back as her own. Stupid for them, perfect for me.

But it's not perfect now. It's been months and I'm still unable to kill; to drink the pulsing blood from a victim's neck until I feel drunk on desperate fear and the inevitable tug of death. We've tried to get the things out of our heads. Tried kidnapping. Tried pleading. Tried everything we could without daring to hurt one of those poor little humans who have no idea just how much they're going to pay when I'm free of this chain.

We were broken, but Spike had his plans. Spike proved more useful than I ever could have imagined. He made a deal with the slayer. Well, not so much a deal really, more a tentative arrangement – for now.

See, we can hurt demons, vampires, nasty things that need squished like bugs, and we've been useful to Buffy and her friends. We've 'helped'. At first for a price so we could buy blood, but now. . .because it's better than killing nothing. It's better than rotting in a damp crypt just waiting for something to change.

There was no trust at first of course, but Spike has a charm about him and Buffy. . .well she's not as bright as she might think she is. It was easy sneaking into their little circle after a while and now we're just expected to be there when there's a problem, or a big fight that little, darling Buffy can't handle alone. It works for all of us, to a point.

I'm growing tired of being less than I am. Tired of little bags of blood instead of gaping wounds spilling their delicious contents down my throat. The line between what I was and what I am is blurring, and it's frightening. Every night I help the 'good guys' in some way. Every night I betray what I am.

I told Spike we need to go now, but the idiot thinks this is his home. He says we need to stick around, fooling Buffy, waiting for the chance to get these chips out. I told him they'll never take them out, but he refuses to listen and I'm afraid to leave on my own when I'm crippled in this way. Who knows how I'd fend for myself, or how Dru would greet me knowing I could no longer feed or help her slaughter whoever she desired that day.

The slaughter was what we did best; what I did best. Nobody was safe near me and I would bathe in blood until my skin was warm, just because I could. Because I'm Darla, and I'm meant to kill. I'm built to kill.

No more.

This new life is drab and frustrating and the only pleasure I'm getting out of it right now is the slayer.

It's. . .interesting watching her. Watching her fight, stalk her prey, strip vampires of their pride with nothing but a well-timed put down. She's not like other slayers. She's different, and I can see what Angel saw in her. I can see the goodness that I want to taint. I can see the perfection that I want to mar. I can see the way her body twists and stretches and burns as she unleashes and just a little of that ancient magic seeps out, revealing what drives her. Revealing the darkness just under the surface.

Apparently there's another slayer – also captured and tethered – that hides that darkness less successfully than Buffy. One day I'll have to look her up and see just how deep that darkness goes. For now, I'll keep watching Buffy and wondering. Wondering if it would be worth my time taking her as my new childe. Wondering what her blood would taste like, her skin, her passion as it spills over my lips.

Spike's infatuated with her because she's pretty and quaint, but I. . .I enjoy her power, and the dark spot inside her that's begging me to bring it out. Of course, I have eyes; she is pretty, and she does make a person's body want to slide over hers until there's nothing but friction and heat and a scent that almost – almost, but not quite – rivals the delicious aroma of dripping blood.

I told Spike I'll have her before he does and he scoffed in my face. He seems to think darling little Buffy has no interest in girls, but I've seen the way her body shifts and her pulse quickens when the other slayer is mentioned. I've felt her eyes on me when I've reluctantly fought at her side. I can feel what she's thinking, and she definitely has no interest in Spike; the girl barely has any interest in the boyfriend she already has. It's neither of them she thinks about when Riley is inside her.

When the time comes I'll make her an offer she can't refuse. Maybe I'll threaten to eat her annoying little sister if she doesn't leave with me to be mine; to travel the world together, enjoying it and everything it has to offer. Enjoying each other until we're sick on lust. But threatening her sister kind of takes the challenge away. Buffy would do anything for her friends and family, she's just that 'precious'.

No, I'll wait and watch and one day I'll be free to be a vampire again; master of the night and terror of the shadows. She won't know what hit her.

But waiting isn't fun. Waiting means I don't get to taste her other delights. It means Spike gets closer to her with his simpering, his puppy-dog eyes and desperation, and I can't allow that. I can't allow him to think he can get in my way.

"You're staying here tonight," I tell Spike as he lounges in his dirty old chair in our shared crypt.

"Not bloody likely," he bites back, flipping his middle finger at me.

So little respect he has, especially now; now that I'm not technically his elder.

"If you don't I'll snap your neck," I inform him, narrowing my eyes as he twists around to look my way.

He knows I'm not joking. I may be 'new' but I'm still stronger than he'll ever hope to be. I retained some of my old power, much to his disdain.

"Well you'd better bring back something good then," he tells me.

He likes to loot the vampires and demons we help kill. Or failing that he'll search through dumpsters to find useless trinkets and battered old furniture to clutter up our 'home'. I hate it, and quickly cleared a space of my own, free of his clutter; hidden behind dark curtains I warned him never to peek behind.

I shake my head and leave into the late evening, avoiding the last of the sun as it slides out of view. There's no reason for me to go there that I can use for an excuse, but I head to Revello Drive - towards Buffy's house. I know she stays there at the weekends. I know much more than she would probably be happy with and that suits me just fine.

This waiting game has taken its toll; I'm horny, and so very, very hungry.

When I get there – via a detour in which a very unlucky vampire discovered that some girls just aren't what they seem - the night has taken hold. The street is quiet and dark, save for a few lawns illuminated by lights behind large windows. Her house is dark, except for a window above a porch. I know it's her window, her room, because I can see her in there.

I stop by a tree, leaning against it as I keep my eyes on her. She runs a brush through her hair, smiling to herself as if she has a secret. The confidence she has, oozing from every pore even now. Even when she's alone at home getting ready for bed.

When Buffy moves away from the window I curse, then curse again as I wonder if I'm just as unattractively infatuated with her as Spike is. Maybe I am, but it's not the same. He wants to sit her on his knee and call her princess as he whispers love poems in her ear. I want to test her strength, her will, her body, and release her from the delicate shell that keeps her caged in conformity.

She'll be mine one way or another.

Being as quiet as – well, a vampire – I jump up to the porch and slide up to her window. If she heard me she doesn't show it. If she senses me I can't tell, but I keep my gaze fixed on her as she sits on her bed rubbing lotion up and down her bare legs.

Through the open window I can smell that she just showered; soap and shampoo dulling her own scent. A scent that I've become more than keen on, and find myself enjoying more than is probably wise. Her hands glide up her smooth legs and back down, rubbing in lotion as I follow every movement. She's taking her time, switching to the other leg and letting the tiny little cotton shorts she's wearing ride up even further. All that skin makes my tummy rumble and my sex grow slick.

I wonder if she has any idea that a female vampire can get so wet – so wet from just looking at her. The wicked idea to jump through her window and show her flits through my mind, but I don't want to seem desperate. I'm not Spike.

Just as I turn my gaze away to jump down, before I do something rash, she stands up. Those shorts really are tiny, and her top is. . .well it's barely a top at all. If that's what she sleeps in she may as well be sleeping naked.

Trying not to make any sudden moves, I hold still, watching Buffy as she puts her lotion back in its place on her dresser. As she glances up into the mirror, first looking at herself, then to the side as if she could see my reflection, I wait. She can't see my reflection of course, but it still makes my muscles tense in anticipation of a reaction.

"I know you're there," she says suddenly, though her voice is soft and unthreatening.

Choosing not to answer I move my head away from the window as she turns to look. I hear her feet padding across the floor and get ready to pounce down to the ground – not too keen on being caught stalking, or whatever I'm doing.

"You're even less subtle than Angel was."

At the mention of Angel I find myself stiffening and ready to challenge her. He's nothing compared to me, and I'm just the person to prove that to her.

"Angel's motivation was. . .misplaced," I say, moving back to the window so our eyes meet. "I may not be as subtle, but I'm sure a girl like you gets tired of subtle."

There's a slight flicker across her face and I know I'm right. I know Angel's hushed voice and delicate touch bored her, and I know her boyfriend's dainty advances make her boil inside – for all the wrong reasons.

"You didn't come here to talk about Angel," she says, not stopping too close to the window even though she knows I can't get in.

"He's the last thing on my mind, sweetheart," I lie, feeling a ripple of jealousy travel down my spine. Whether I'm jealous of him or her. . .I really don't have the time to dwell.

"So why are you here?" she asks, trying to look mildly uninterested despite the fact her heart is beating harder and faster with every second that passes.

I briefly wonder if she knows why I'm here, but I can't say if she does. I've never flirted with her – not really. I've never indicated that she interests me in any way. Maybe she thinks I can kill again and I've come for her. Maybe she's not thinking anything at all.

"I was passing by," I answer lamely, aiming for nonchalant despite the fact I'm perched at her bedroom window like a complete buffoon.

"I'm pretty sure you realise I'm not gonna believe that," Buffy tells me, hands on her hips.

My eyes wander over her before I can stop myself and she frowns, interpreting, guessing, narrowing her eyes at me as I dare her to come to her own conclusions with my silence.

"Is Spike with you?" she finally asks, taking me by surprise a little.

Shaking my head I tell her no.

"So you're here alone," she states. "Are you still chipped? Because if you're not and you think you can. . ."

I place my hands on either side of her window and look at her, right in her eyes. Almost right through her.

"Why don't you let me in and find out?" I dare her.

Licking my lips I watch as her pupils dilate and her breath quickens. I'd really like to know what's running through her mind but I don't possess that ancient ability. Still, body language can say a whole lot and right now it's telling me she likes this; this danger. This not knowing what could happen next.

"I'm not that stupid," Buffy responds disappointingly, though her eyes wander to where my hands are gripping the frame, and I can almost feel her yearning to take the risk.

Watching a small trickle of sweat make its way down Buffy's neck I wonder if it's hot out tonight or if she's getting a little heated for other reasons. I don't feel the heat the same way humans do so it's hard to tell, but whatever the case. . .my gaze never leaves that trickle until it travels down past the tantalizing pulse at her throat, and down between her disappointingly concealed breasts.

She raises a hand momentarily to her neck and glares at me.

Taking pity on her I tell her "I'm not here to bite you, sweetheart. Couldn't if I wanted to."

"You're here for something," she correctly assumes.

My smile probably looks more like a smirk but I'm not trying to make her uncomfortable, I'm just rusty at enticing girls to let me into their delectable little panties. As a vampire I mainly had my way with men, saving the girls for Angelus – happy to watch from the corner with my fingers buried inside me and my fangs scraping at my lip.

In a moment of accidental honesty as my mind wanders to the past, I let slip too much information.

"I'm here for you," I say with barely restrained desire, wishing my heart still had a beat so I could feel it thumping inside my chest in response to the faint gasp that drifts out of Buffy.

"You. . .you're here for me?" she stutters, instinctively inching closer. "Why? What do you want?"

The questions sound wary but Buffy's body is revealing a different story. Her body isn't as cautious as her mind; it's ready. It's screaming out for more than she's ever been given and I can't ignore that call any longer. The past few months have made me look through different eyes, in a different way. Sure, I want to take her and pull out the shadows from her soul so I can feel equal to her, but I want more than that. I want her.

"You honestly don't know?" I ask, letting my voice grow husky and wanton as Buffy's chest rises and falls with expectant desire.

Funny how I've never seen her quite this worked up from so little before, even when I've watched her frolicking with her boyfriend. It makes my stomach flutter in a way I'd forgotten was possible.

"I don't," she lies, her blinking giving her away as she tries to look away from me.

When her gaze lands on her bed her cheeks flush and I know I was right all along. It's not Spike that she wants, it's not Riley, and it's definitely not Angel anymore.

"Buffy," I say, each syllable oozing my intentions, "let me in."

When she looks at me I can see conflict within her. I can see her darkest secrets and her most delicious fantasies. I can see that she'd be lying with her legs spread and my face between them already if it weren't for the fact I'm not a vampire with a soul.

No, I'm just a regular, dangerous, bloodthirsty vampire who'd drain her dry at the first opportunity. Hell, maybe that's what turns her on – the knowledge that I'm forbidden fruit. That I'm the exact opposite of everything she is and stands for. I guess that's beside the point anyway; she knows I can't bite her, even if she doesn't think she can trust me.

Buffy runs her bottom lip through her teeth and steps even closer to the window, her scent now overpowering the recent shower she had. I catch a hint of her arousal and feel an age old ache between my thighs.

Tired of waiting and wondering about consequences I shouldn't care about.

"If it isn't obvious already," I begin, making sure she's looking into my eyes, "the only biting I want to do is a little nibble on you as I fuck you."

She lets out a soft moan and that hint of arousal tainting the air gets thicker.

"Darla, I'm not. . ."

She doesn't finish and I grin. I'm pretty sure she realises lying is pointless, and that denying the obvious would only lead to me leaving and us not getting that much closer.

"I've been around a very long time, Buffy," I say. "Granted, there was a break in there for the past few years, but I still have 400 years behind me. I can see past the façade you try to hide behind."

That must cut a little close to home because her stance changes; defensive again.

"I don't hide," Buffy points out. "And I don't need you to tell me who I am; it's just easier if certain 'things' are kept to myself."

Again her eyes wander to the bed and back and it's almost as if I _can_ read her mind. But she's a fool if she thinks she can pretend forever.

"You don't have to hold back for me," I tell her.

For a moment she doesn't speak and I see a thousands things cross her mind through her eyes. She takes a step forward but pauses, her muscles tightening as if she's fighting against her own will. I could encourage her further forward, but she has to decide for herself. I want her to want me in there with her.

"I guess I. . ." she begins, arms gesticulating. "I guess I noticed the way you've been looking at me lately."

I keep smiling and give her a small nod, letting her know she can trust me – as much as one can trust a vampire anyway.

"I liked it," she continues quietly, her heart jumping inside her chest. "I like that you want me."

Her tongue swipes over her lips to wet them and I grip the window frame tighter; I want that tongue on me, and in me. It surprises me how much I want it. Normally sex is secondary in my thoughts when it comes to seduction. Normally all I can think about is how much I'm going to enjoy the gush of blood pumping into my mouth; everything else pales in comparison to that. I don't know what's different; maybe the chip in my head. Maybe the fact I've been dead – the real kind of dead – until recently. Maybe it's just her.

Buffy isn't like other people. I learned that quickly.

"I do want you," I confirm. "I want between your strong thighs. Between your lips. Inside your. . ."

"Ok, ok. . .I get it," Buffy says, her face flushing as she looks towards her door and back again. "My mom and Dawn are home so can you not say those things out loud?"

I giggle at her adorable nervousness and give her my best apologetic look.

"Ok, I promise to behave," I say. "Just come over here."

She takes another look at her door and then comes closer, up to the window. The slight breeze makes her nipples stiffen and I have to hold myself back from breaking the wood under my grip. She's just so. . .edible.

"This is wrong on so many levels," Buffy mumbles as she lets her gaze travel over me.

"It's not as if I'd be your first vampire," I remind, instantly wishing I hadn't as her lips straighten and she shakes her head.

"That was different. Angel had. . ."

"Yes, he has that pesky soul writhing around inside him," I practically snarl. "But a soul isn't necessary to feel guilt or grief, or have a conscience. And you don't need a soul to feel desire, or love."

She blinks at that, probably wondering what I mean. See, Angel's way of absolving himself from his sins is to blame them on his lack of a soul, and now he has one he thinks it instantly makes him better, cures him of the evil inside him. What he fails to accept is that he could do those things with or without a soul. It doesn't make him any less a killer.

"Enough about him," I say, not wanting her to dwell on Angel. "He can't give you what I can. And neither can your boyfriend."

Her mouth opens to protest but the fight has gone out of her; the murky parts deep inside her whispering to her that I'm right, telling her she can't deny it.

"So what now? I let you in and we. . ." her question dies on her tongue as I look at her through my eyelashes, my body humming to have her. "I don't know how to. . .I'm not even sure if I want this."

"You want it," I assure her. "You want something you're not in control of. You want the danger."

Her brow furrows.

"I don't want danger," she lies, her voice breaking and giving her away, causing me to raise an eyebrow.

"Danger is a part of you, Buffy," I encourage. "If you didn't like danger you'd make a lousy slayer."

"I think you've got the wrong slayer," she tells me.

"Oh, I don't think so, sweetheart."

Her hand rests on the window frame opposite mine, almost sweetly, affectionately. It makes me worry for a second if maybe she likes the safe and 'nice' approach that Riley gives her, and that Angel gave her. I'm no good at nice, though. I don't do dating and flowers. I'm not a girl who'll stroke her hair until sunrise as she sleeps, just holding her against me.

Actually, that sounds kind of. . .pleasant.

But I don't do pleasant.

"I can smell that you want me, Buffy," I say, eager to move things along. "The sweet smell of your pu. . ."

"Hey," she interrupts. "No getting descriptive, I'm new to this."

"I bet you've been thinking about it, though," I guess. "Thinking about how I'd feel. How I'd taste. If it would be like being with Angel, or if it would be better."

Her cheeks go pink and I know I'm right. She's probably spent 'alone time' thinking about it. Or maybe she thinks about it when she's with Riley – biting her lip so she doesn't call out the wrong name. I'm good at guessing secrets. It was part of my charm as a prostitute – knowing what people want; their darkest desires.

"Angel was. . .well, it'd been a while for him so he. . ."

She doesn't have to finish for me to understand what she's saying.

"He arrived a little too early?" I ask with a chuckle. "I see he hasn't changed much then."

Her eyebrow raises but she chuckles, and I realise I've never heard her laugh in just that way before. It's cute and her nose wrinkles up adorably. It's the light part of her that'll never be swallowed by darkness, no matter how hard I try. That's fine, we all have our flaws.

"I'll take my time with you, Buffy," I promise her. "I'll take you every way I can, and I won't leave you hanging if I come before you."

Her eyes close, as if she's savouring the image of us fucking on her bed. As if she knows just how good it'll feel.

"I must be crazy," she mutters to herself. "Too many knocks to the head."

"You're not crazy for wanting," I say as she pushes the window further up between us.

"I am," she says, her voice almost a whisper as she leans closer. "You could be playing games with me, setting me up, using me to hurt Angel."

"True, I could be doing any one of those things and nothing I say would convince you otherwise, so let me show you."

I reach out to her, knowing I can get away with pushing my arm inside her house despite not being invited. It hurts, and it's not exactly easy, but as she lets me guide her face closer to mine I find it's totally worth it. As her lips barely brush mine, I find there's a faint twitch where my heart used to beat – just a flicker of a memory.

Groaning into her mouth as she opens it for my tongue, I realise I'm probably here for all the wrong reasons, but now that I'm here I may as well go with the flow. I'll quiet my mind long enough to enjoy this intimacy. This soft touch of lips and slow slide of tongues as her warm mouth accepts me.

Desperately needing to have my hands on her I kiss her deeper. She doesn't back off, giving as much as she's taking, pushing her hands into my hair and breathing hard as her skin burns and her body oozes the scent of lust. The tip of my tongue flicks at hers, then I slip it in and out as if I'm fucking her mouth and she loses it – moaning and trying to pull me closer as her fingers dig into my skin. I'm dripping for her now and I know she's in the same state. Just as I'm about to pull away to ask her to invite me in she does it herself.

Whispering across my lips she tells me to come in. To come in and fuck her.

I pull myself up onto the window ledge as she takes a step back, her hands reaching for me before my feet even land on the floor.

"Darla," she moans into my mouth as I forget all about taking my time and slide my hand down her stomach, past the waistband of her shorts.

When my fingertips brush the top of her pussy, feeling the small patch of hair leading me downwards, I pull back to look in her eyes.

"Open your eyes, Buffy," I tell her.

She does so, and I've never seen them looking so green – like I could drown in the sea of them.

"This is just the beginning," I warn, I vow; speaking to the very depths of her.

I glide my fingers down between her folds, sliding into her arousal as it spills out, brushing over the most sensitive part of her. Eyes closing again, Buffy gasps as my fingers circle and explore. Without protest she lets me guide us to her bed and I lay her down, climbing on top of her with my fingers still working in circles inside her shorts.

Her breathy moans and sighs wash over my lips and I kiss her. There's a strange kind of affection in the way she kisses back and I don't know if I hate it or love it.

Probably both.

"Oh, God," she gasps as her body starts to shake and I push inside her, thrusting into her soaked entrance with my fingers until she falls apart.

I swallow down the noise of a series of moans and gasps each time I go deeper. Each time my palm rubs against her clit and sends her closer to oblivion. Closer to being mine.

Fingers digging into my back and tight pussy swallowing my fingers, Buffy starts to come; arousal flooding my hand as she shudders.

"Fuck," she gasps; a final sound before her body goes limp in my arms and I smile against her lips.

"It's just the beginning," I remind her.

She smiles back and I know right away that I made the right choice when I came here.

Before I can stop her she flips me over, straddling me as she grinds down into the hand still in her shorts.

"Definitely just the beginning," she tells me, taking my fingers as deep as they'll go before pulling her shirt off and giving me a naughty grin.

I pull her down to me and we kiss hungrily; feeding off each other. Finding each other somewhere between the light and the darkness, the sea and the shore.

I made the right choice, and so did Buffy.

The last choice she'll ever need to make.

**The End.**


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